I Must Examine You
by blackcapricorn
Summary: Holmes gets kicked in the balls during a case, and, well... Watson is a doctor.


_Holmes gets kicked in the balls during a case, and, well... Watson is a doctor. _

It was a fresh winter morning, and it started snowing when Holmes and Watson finished a case in the park.

Watson licked his frozen lips, and puffed out a hot breath, watching it swirl in the cold air. The freezing weather had numbed his fingers and he fiercely tried to rub them together, turning to his friend with a red nose.

"I'm very inclined to admit that I'm eager to return to a warm place again, my dear fellow," he said as they walked along the road, leaving the park behind.

Holmes duly replied with a hum as he linked his arm with the Doctor's.

And that's when it happened. The most uncomfortable scene Watson ever had to witness happen to Holmes.

A white bearded figure suddenly appeared in front of them, tightly gripping a cane between red, dirty fingers, and then with a swift unexpected movement, swung the end of the cane between Holmes' legs.

Holmes barely had time to rely on his reflexes as he jerked away a second too late, his face was turning white as a sheet, and barely an audible groan past his lips as he suddenly sank down on the pavement. Wincing, Watson was so shocked by what he'd just witnessed that it felt as if his entire being was frozen on the floor.

However, senses quickly took over him, and before he knew it, he had the cruel stranger pinned down to the ground.

"Who in god's name do you think you are, you spiteful man!", he cried.

The stranger reeked of filth; he opened his mouth and slurred, "Deserved it with his big ego an' all. Stealin' ma things! Sombod' shoulda hit him there."

Watson's nostrils flared when he came to the sudden realisation that this was one of the beggars from the last case. He pursed his lips, ready to hit the man, wanting to repay him for his actions, but somebody was holding me back.

"Get off this man, Sir! This is the police, I repeat."

Watson clenched his jaw, when he was shoved off by rough hands, and stumbled backwards. His vision was dense and clouded by anger and confusion; he still hadn't entirely grasped what had just happened. The policeman had the man's hands tied, making some notes while Watson stared, dully noting a faint ache in his fists.

The policemen briefly turned to him, gesturing to the ground behind him. "Perhaps see if this gentleman needs any aid, Sir."

The doctor blinked, turning around to find Holmes kneeling on the pavement, his expression was enough to make Watson gasp. The detective had his white fingers clenched to his knees, and was breathing in a loud, ragged way.

Watson immediately sprang into doctor mode.

"My god, Holmes! Are you alright? You need to take slow breaths, my dear fellow." Watson rushed to him and put his hand on the detective's back, counting his breathing, saying, "Focus on me, old boy."

It was apparent that Holmes was struggling not to hold himself in such a public setting.

Watson counted in a soft tone while massaging Holmes' back with his thumb. The detective had his gaze intently fixed on the ground; his face was a mask of pained concentration until he seemed to gradually gain control of his breathing again.

Finally, he flickered his eyes to Watson, his expression quickly becoming guarded upon meeting Watson's determined and concerned gaze.

He shook his head.

"I think it's best we take a carriage back to Baker street, I must examine you. Can you stand up, Holmes?" Watson put his arm around Holmes' waist, and tried to help him up.

Holmes pursed his lips.

"I'm fine, Watson," he gritted, visibly wincing when trying to stand up. "No need to take such measures."

"Holmes! That is out of question! I saw hard that damned cane hit you! You might have severe injuries!", Watson fretted. "Look at you, Holmes! You can barely stand on your own."

Watson was starting to worry and frantically yelled for a horse carriage to stop.

Once it did, he made sure that Holmes was able to get inside the carriage and make himself comfortable on the seat. Watson quickly went out to fetch some snow and carefully put it into a tissue; he hoped it might soothe Holmes.

Without further due he sat next to his friend and told the coachman to go. Watson turned to Holmes.

Now that he was hidden from the public's eye, Holmes seemed to have dismissed his regard for being discreet. He was now stiffly leaning against the seat, protecting his groin with both hands, his eyes were tightly shut.

Watson fixed his gaze on Holmes' white knuckles. He felt invariably uncertain on how to approach this sensitive subject upon which he had found himself both in as a doctor and friend. From past experiences he knew that Holmes was a patient that was not particularly keen to have other doctors treat him, he was most insistent for Watson to tend to his wounds and needs. Proper physical examinations of an intimate nature however, was much of a different and unknown matter.

His fingers were getting cold from the wrapped snow in his balled fist.

He cleared his throat.

"Holmes, I think it best you hold this against you. It ought to ease the pain and prevent any further swellings."

Holmes made a grimace as he held one of his hands silently up for Watson to place the wrapped snow in. Watson noticed that the detective still wouldn't look at him, and fleetingly wondered if he was perhaps embarrassed to be in this situation with him.

The doctor watched wordlessly as Holmes put the ice on the crotch of his trousers and intently searched for any signs of relief on his face. But Holmes only made a peculiar noise and Watson was not sure if he should either discern it as pain or easement.

Watson started drumming his fingers on the seat, and attentively looked at his friend. "Holmes, can you describe to me where it exactly hurts? For when we are home, I can immediately see what I can treat you with; laudanum shall help with the pain as well…", he trailed of when Holmes tried to shift in his seat and suddenly gasped at the movement, his entire body looked tense.

Finally he opened his mouth, and Watson found his voice to be uncharacteristically hitched as Holmes muttered, "I'm too...Watson, I cannot possibly...it's too sensitive."

Hearing Holmes say this, brought up to his attention that the detective was indeed just a man, which Watson was well aware of, but sometimes it simply seemed natural to forget that fact with Holmes being compared to a machine ever so often. But Watson fortunately knew for a fact that the detective was very much human.

He nodded, and clapped his hands when he saw that they had finally arrived Baker street.

He sprung up and opened the door, turning to the detective who seemed to have suddenly stiffened in his seat.

"Can you walk on your own? Or perhaps take my arm, Holmes."

Holmes appeared reluctant to let go of his crotch, and for a good reason too. Watson was dumbfounded to see that the pin striped trousers appeared to be slightly tented when Holmes quickly stood up and tossed the parcelled snow away with a scarlet face. The detective hurriedly covered himself with his coat, sighing at the situation.

Watson didn't comment on it, but he was glad to note that the man's privates were still intact enough to achieve an erection. In a way, this knowledge almost calmed him down.

Unfaced by Holmes' uncharacteristic awkwardness, he helped him walk to their flat, unlocking the door and stepping in with his friend, who was moving tentatively along. Watson thought that Holmes would manage walking up the stairs by himself, but he was soon enough proven wrong. The detective was barely four steps up when he gasped, struggling to maintain his composure.

It was a sight that Watson was not familiar with, it rendered him to stare at the detective in open curiosity.

If Holmes was still in an excited state, then it was clear to Watson why going up the stairs was a painful process for the man. The best and most sensible solution would be for him to untuck himself - to lessen any further pressure on his oversensitive member.

His mind stuttered at the thought of seeing Holmes expose his stiff prick in his presence, the very thought brought an overwhelming hotness to his face and neck. Watson urgently pushed the improper picture out of his mind, and loosened his tie.

He turned to his fidgeting friend, reclaiming his professional side once more.

"Please Holmes, let me take your coat, while I suggest you untuck yourself. You really shan't irritate yourself any further."

The detective seemed scandalised at Watson's suggestion, and shook his head in clear refusal. The tips of his ears were turning bright red, and Watson raised his eyebrows in slight surprise.

"I'm a doctor and your friend, Holmes. There's nothing I haven't seen before, and Mrs. Hudson is not in the house, I assure you there isnt-"

"Watson! Kindly spare me your speech! I do require just a moment," Holmes interrupted heatedly. He held onto the wall and moved to the next stair, hissing when his trousers pushed against his throbbing member.

There were 20 stairs left.

Holmes shut his eyes in guarded mortification, when he internally admitted that a further drag of friction to his long neglected member would undoubtedly bring him to his crisis. His dignity to remain composed in front of Watson rendered him to follow his advice. He sighed as he turned to Watson and handed him his coat with warm cheeks.

The doctor was pleased that Holmes decided to listen to him for once, and watched with restrained eager as Holmes' nervous fingers opened his trousers, undoing the bulged buttons to reveal his tented drawers underneath. The thin material clung on him and Holmes made it a quick process to free himself, his face a sudden mask of relief as his prick sprang out of its confinement.

The sight of it made Watson tighten his grip on the coat. He had seen Holmes' member on a few lucky occasions in the turkish baths, Watson couldn't fathom why he was so thrilled whenever he caught sight of it, but he just was.

Holmes nudity was his guilty pleasure. Even at home he sometimes attempted to find appropriate excuses in interrupting Holmes' bathing routine, just in hopes for a little innocent glance of his exposed member. So far he had succeeded once, although that was due to Holmes asking him to bring him a towel when he was unable to leave the tub.

The detective had a lovely prick between his legs, with a heavy sac hanging below, and Watson had been endeared by it since the first time he had seen it.

By all means, he never once thought himself as an invert, but when it came to Holmes, everything was turned around, made an exception. And all things considered, the man just was aesthetically pleasing to him, including his delicate member.

Watson blinked at the sight.

Holmes' penis was as flushed as a pink rose and the shaft was heavily swollen, pointing straight up the ceiling with its cockhead peeking out. It bobbed and twitched at the warm air. As a doctor he knew that there was a theory that at times when the body received pain, the brain comprehended it as pleasure, making a person aroused. But this, he thought, this surely must be something else.

The detective cleared his throat when he saw Watson's intent gaze on him.

"Watson," Holmes said anxiously, his face was flushed dark with humiliation at the state of his prick.

Feeling a bit guilty, he politely reverted his eyes and turned to Holmes' side, putting his arm around his waist to help him move up the stairs more easily. Holmes murmured to himself as they walked, and Watson tried to focus on the stairs, but couldn't help himself to occasionally glance down.

He was most surprised to note that Holmes' length wasn't much bigger in this state, it was still considerably smaller than a cigar. And although Holmes' member was on the short side, Watson thought it was quite lovely and fitting.

Of course, he never minded small cigars, and the fact remained, Watson actually liked them very much.

The doctor shook his head, trying to shake his improper thoughts away. He really ought to stop this, it wouldn't do well to ponder over his friend's small sized equipment like that. Holmes surely wouldn't appreciate it.

It was inconsiderate, perverted even what Watson thought about.

The great detective held onto him, gripping and leaning on his shoulder as he moved, he had his legs a bit more parted than usual, indicating that his bollocks must have received the majority of the trauma. His member didn't show any off putting redness or swelling from the incident itself.

But Watson would have to examine it properly to be certain.

Holmes was starting to soften as they entered their quarters, he was hardly left in an erect state when they reached the door.

The doctor cleared his throat, and lead the detective to his bedroom.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Holmes. It'll just be a moment until I'll examine you."

Holmes grumbled and accusingly stared at himself as he waited for Watson to grab his things from the bathroom. He knew this was bound to be a catastrophe, but he didn't have the energy to fight Watson's caring nature.

He stepped out of his trousers and laid on the bed, feeling very self conscious with his privates obscenely displayed like that. Although confident that Watson would make it a quick procedure, Holmes was concerned he would betray his affections for the doctor during the physical. He took a deep breath as he mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen. Watson was going to touch him, and dear did he hope that he would remain uninterested, limp and soft under Watson's close proximity.

The doctor returned with his medical bag in his hand and a bowl with water. He pushed a chair towards the bed and sat down, telling Holmes in an assuring voice, "Alright, Holmes. You must part your legs, so I can have a proper look. It will make this much easier for the both of us."

The detective bit his lip and did as he was told, forcing himself to halt still when he felt his doctor's intent gaze on his most delicate parts.

Watson took a moment to study what he saw, abandoning for a second what he was supposed to be doing. For once, he was allowed to openly look at Holmes' most intimate parts.

Holmes' member was limp, nestled between the thin legs, looking altogether soft-pink and vulnerable. His bollocks were hanging low, resting against the mattress.

Watson shifted in his seat.

The detective had the loveliest prick of all of England, that he was sure of.

He cleared his throat as he indicated to Holmes that he was about to touch him, needing to check if nothing was out of sorts.

Holmes nodded with a tense jerk of his head.

With the detective's legs nicely spread, Watson carefully touched the sensitive scrotum, gently cradling the delicate flesh in the palm of his hand, looking for any signs of distress. His bollocks were both swollen and red, and Holmes' member jerked when the doctor carefully massaged them.

As far as he could tell, Holmes would be fine in that area, but perhaps the swelling should be cooled down for a bit.

He turned to take the cold towel that he's brought, and wrapped it around Holmes' bollocks, carefully handling the oversensitive parts. Holmes shuddered and muffled a gasp.

"Watson," Holmes said, sounding strained. His legs were shaking a little and the doctor steadied them, holding his knees and keeping them spread apart.

"Oh god," the detective gasped, "Watson, take it off! I can't stand this!"

"Holmes? It's not- ," Watson paused, looking at his displayed manhood, and at Holmes' flustered face, blinking in confusion at what he was seeing. "Holmes? Are you... Why, I gather you seem to have quite a reaction to ice, my dear fellow!"

And indeed, Holmes' prick seemed to have perked up, its tip peeked out of the foreskin as it twitched once more before shriveling down from the cold. Watson found himself throughly bewildered at the sight.

Holmes felt himself tingling under his companion's observant gaze, and quickly sat up to unwrap the offensive towel around him. His hands were shaking and he was mortified that the cold excited his phallus in such a peculiar way.

His sensitive prick slapped against his belly, and Watson only gaped in silent fascination. He looked at Holmes who had his hands covered over his flushed face, and the doctor was overcome with a sudden feeling of wonder.

Contemplating with himself, Watson bit his lip and took up the risk to either put an awkward halt to their friendship or perhaps take his friendship with Holmes to an unexpected turn. He felt oddly hopeful for the latter.

Taking a deep breath, Watson leaned down, and almost purred, "Well, I can certainly see some serious stirring down there, Holmes. I think it best I examine you again, I ought to be more throughly this time. What do you say, Holmes?"

Like a bolt, Holmes snapped his gray eyes to Watson. A startled expression formed his face, his mouth was hanging open as if he meant to say something. Instead, a gasp escaped his lips.

Watson's heart raced, stomach dropping as regret was starting to daunt him, but then Holmes said something.

He rasped, "Watson... you devil. Yes."

It was all Holmes managed say, and Watson knew this was all he needed to hear. He could read the helpless want in Holmes' eyes; hear the frustration in his tone for more stimulation. It was a great relief as the tension finally exploded between them.

He wanted him. Sherlock Holmes wanted him to touch him.

With a tentative nod and smile, Watson laid his hand on Holmes' thigh, feeling overcome with happiness and a sense of disbelief. He scarcely knew what he was doing when his thumb started drawing little circles on the pale flesh near Holmes' heavy sac.

The detective panted and threw his head back on the pillows, watching Watson like a hawk.

Watson looked down at the exposed prick and gently curled his hand around it, feeling the dainty length pulsate in his grip. It fitted wonderfully in his hand, and like in his fantasies, all of Holmes disappeared in his fist. The realisation made Watson hyper aware of how tight his trousers suddenly felt.

With his other hand he carefully caressed the sensitive sac beneath, cupping it and hiding it in his hand. Holmes' breath hitched, and Watson was aroused to find that none of the man's private parts could be seen anymore, all protected and covered under the doctor's hands.

Watson slowly started stroking him, pulling from root to tip, and lingering on the long foreskin to pinch it closed over the head, rubbing it vigorously against the crown.

The detective moaned and writhed under Watson's ministrations, apparently enjoying it. The doctor smiled and lovingly petted Holmes' length, feeling it twitch and harden against his fingers.

"Now, now, Holmes. You mustn't be so eager. I don't want your little prick to become over excited; it wouldn't do to exhaust it even further...", Watson trailed of, lovingly poking the glands and eagerly watching as the tapered foreskin retracted even more. Holmes panted as he desperately sought out his touch with a thrust of his hips.

"Poor little thing", Watson said in playful sympathy when Holmes' member stiffened further, showing and spending its first essence.

The detective was so aroused, he barely could form a proper sentence, lips trembling as he stumbled over his own words. "Watson, it is not...dear me, W-Watson! It is not...don't stop!"

The doctor raised his eyebrows at Holmes' uncharacteristically red face, and licked his lips daringly. "It is not? Pray tell, whatever do you mean, old boy? Surely, the great Mister Sherlock Holmes can tell that he's got a small stiff pricklet on display, yes?"

Watson held his breath, scarcely believing what filthy words escaped his horrid mouth. He stared at Holmes, waiting for his reaction. The man shifted on the bed, his neck was delectable pink and his face was clouded with a distressed need to climax, Watson admired seeing his partner so exposed and unguarded.

"Watson!" Holmes gasped, his eyes were wild, pupils dilated.

Watson noticed that the word 'small' seemed to put Holmes someplace happy, or at least his cockstand seemed to enjoy it, twitching whenever the word was muttered. Watson suppressed a moan, and ignored his own aching erection.

He turned to Holmes with a sudden request on his tongue, asking him the impossible.

"Holmes...oh dear Holmes, do forgive me, but may I kiss your prick?"

With a feverish look, Holmes' pulse visibly raced.

"Watson, please! Yes, but you...you …mustn't tease...me so!"

Watson withstrained a grin, nodding as he fixed his gaze on the rosy member, leaning down to give the shaft a tender kiss, feeling how it jerked impatiently. He scarcely could believe it was Holmes, Holmes' bare prick on display for him to kiss. Wetting his lips he moved up, eager to touch the pink, glossy head with his mouth.

"Careful, I beg you! I'm near my-...Watson!," Holmes warned with a strangled voice. Watson was hotly exhaling his breath on his cockhead, watching as another drop of fluid welled up from the slit, spilling over the ruddy tip. Pleased with what he saw, Watson darted his tongue out, cleaning the head from the essence, tasting it.

Holmes hissed out loud, hips jerking only once as if desperately trying to hold himself back. It was a most satisfying sight to see the exposed bollocks tighten beneath, and Watson couldn't with strain himself any longer but to finally kiss the flushed cockhead.

"Watson!," Holmes grunted in slight warning.

But Watson paid no mind to Holmes' near crisis, mercilessly holding his rosy cockstand in a tight grip, and giving the tip a loving peck of his lips, over and over, unaware his moustache roughly caressed the glands, stimulating them much too suddenly.

And quickly, it appeared to overwhelm Holmes. Mouth agape, he struggled to gasp out the words, breath stuttering. "W-Watson! Too much, too much," he cried, flailing his hands helplessly.

At once, Watson leaned back, looking up in alarm. "Holmes? What- oh!" He instantly felt heat surge into his face at realising what the matter was. Carefully, he let go of the stiff prick in his hand.

"Apologies, Holmes. I wasn't aware my moustache..," he trailed off, consciously stroking a finger over the rough hair. "I suppose I'll have to refrain from kissing your cockhead again."

Holmes slammed his eyes shut, looking flustered. "My dear, Holmes, I promise it's perfectly alright. Shall I continue the examination? How are your bollocks feeling?"

The question abruptly elicited a whimper, and Watson flickered his gaze down, feigning great concern. "They do appear unusually tight, Holmes. Are you quite all right?"

"Watson, I'm fine. If you could -….bring me to my crisis."

Watson smiled. "Hm, I see what I can do."

Aware that Holmes was still recovering from the recent overstimulation, he was cautious with his touch, trailing his finger tips around the bollocks and lightly caressing the small length of his member.

Holmes, appearing eager for more, pressed himself against the fingers, rolling his hips up and trying to stroke himself against the fingers. His breath hitched as Watson withdrew his hand.

"None of that, Holmes. You are much too sensitive, see?" He demonstratively flicked his thumb over the flushed tip, making Holmes moan and thrust with a cry.

"Watson! Watson, I must spend myself," he rasped, desperately moving his long pale fingers down to touch himself. "Let me spend."

"No," Watson said decidedly, catching the hands and pushing them against the bed sheets. Holding him there, he shifted to kneel between the long legs, peering at the stiff cockstand, watching it pulsate for a moment, before leaning down to give the shaft a kiss. "Patience, Holmes."

"Watson," he panted.

"Patience. I'm not finished yet."

Holmes was positively fidgeting as Watson simply continued to pin his hands down while he worked his tongue between the spread legs, lapping at the underside of Holmes' bollocks, coming dangerously close to another intimate part.

"Watson! It's too much! I can't, I simply can't!" Holmes cried out, overcome by the sensation, a great trail of sweat ran down his forehead and Watson yet again pulled away.

He didn't expect Holmes to be so sensitive for touch; it certainly was a great discovery.

Watson smiled understandingly and let Holmes catch his breath, thinking he needed a moment. Though he was thoroughly surprised to find long pale fingers twitch against the sheets, watching them travel up to grasp the stiff length that was lying on Holmes' belly. Fascinated and utterly aroused, he watched as Holmes weakly pulled at his prick, squeezing and stroking himself, watching Watson watch the movements of his hand.

"Join me," he exhaled suddenly, looking down at Watson's tented trousers.

Surprised at the sudden request, Watson shared a heated glance with Holmes, and undid the front of his trousers, never breaking eye contact. Holmes' movement picked up as the doctor drew his member out, showing his well endowed length.

He also took himself in hand and immediately noted the considerable difference between his and Holmes' flesh. Holmes was so much smaller than him, all dainty and short, penis much more compacter than his. The thought proved to be so arousing to him that he felt himself jerk in his grip, and he saw no other reason but to give in and join Holmes' forbidden behavior.

"Oh, Watson."

No longer concealing his eager gaze, Watson looked down at Holmes, following the motion his hand made, fast, urgent but tender. His cockhead was visible between his fingers and Watson stared at it intently when he noticed the swollen red sac tighten underneath.

Holding his breath, he stroked himself in his fist and leaned closer, unabashedly staring at Holmes' weeping slit, when finally seeing a twitch.

"Oh, John."

Blessed relief spurted into Holmes' hand and into his shirt, eyes clenched shut as he spent himself.

To see an elegant man such as Holmes in his crisis and listen to his muffled cries was nothing short of how he had imagined it. It was mesmerizing to watch him spill his essence. And Watson quickly followed him, holding a tissue over himself with a short groan.

Holmes sighed heavily, looking exhausted as he settled his head further back into his pillows. His hand fell slack from his equally exhausted prick, letting it rest against his sullied shirt. Watson, out of breath, watched him and his softening prick for a moment.

Tentatively he moved off the bed and tucked himself back into his drawers, taking some tissues in his hand to mindfully clean up. Meanwhile Holmes observed him with one eye open, humming in content as Watson leaned down and picked up his spent prick, handling it with utmost care as he wiped its tip, easing the foreskin back to gently dab around the crown.

"Oh, Doctor. Will I be fine then?"

Watson smiled mischievously at the question, leaning his head down to give the loose sac underneath a chaste kiss. "I am most certain you will be fine, Holmes. Everything seems to function well enough, though I'm afraid I must keep an eye on it."

"That's acceptable."

"Is it?" he asked, carefully giving the limp member another kiss.

"Watson, will you stop it already and come up here, please." Holmes all but demanded in his impatient manner.

"Why, of course. No need to feel envious, my dear Holmes." He felt his eyes glint when he received an unimpressed look.

"Really, Watson. We have waited long enough, will you kiss me properly now?"

"Apologies, old boy. Here now, let me," he said as he settled his body next to Holmes', leaning his head down to come face to face with the man.

Finally, he closed the gap between them and gave Holmes the kiss of his life.


End file.
